


Luftschloss

by charcoalchar



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, M/M, may not update frequently, the arcana - Freeform, yes very angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:14:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21824959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalchar/pseuds/charcoalchar
Relationships: Asra/Julian Devorak, Julian Devorak/Original Character(s), Lucio/Nadia (The Arcana), Lucio/Valerius (The Arcana), Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Portia Devorak/Nadia
Kudos: 4





	Luftschloss

It was night, and it was late. ‘Nineteen o’clock’, it showed on the station clock. He had a long day.

Looking down to himself he couldn’t help but cringe. There was too much work to be done in so little time he couldn’t even think of changing. Or showering. Basically, Ellijah T. Shultz was a mess. Hours before boarding the train to Sepphia, he was called by Gloham’s mayor to repair the city clock. According to him, the clock’s pointers were pointing weird directions the whole month. Inittially, he thought it was nothing, but then he started to hear ghosts and demons making fun of him. ‘They laugh!’ He said. ‘They alter the time from inside the machine and they laugh, watching the madness unfold from their wrongdoings!’. In the end, the problem was on the mechanism. The poor clock didn’t saw a clockmaker in years. The laughs were mistaken by the mechanism’s noises, the gears’ rusty surface rubbed roughly against each other in a generalized cacophony. After almost a gallon of oil, proper tools, a powerful lantern -- that was later gifted to him -- and a careful, watching eye, the ghosts and the demons were finally expelled. The mayor thanked gratefully, offering Ellijah gratuity on any services he might need, at least for while he held his position.

He didn’t have the time to go home since last night. Agatha was probably waiting for him. Or not. Knowing he usually wouldn’t come on time, she should be doing something else. He’d let her know he had to travel, but he wasn’t sure if he told her today was the day. Well, whatever. His father would let her know, anyway.

“Newspapers, newspapers!” Announced a boy, passing through. He wore a stained shirt, worn out pants and some brown shoes. He had suspenders as well, but they insisted on falling off from his shoulders. With a leather bag strapped to his shoulder and bruised hands, both full, he carried newspapers from all sorts of publishing houses. Ellijah looked at him, reminiscing about his own childhood. Sometimes, when the family shop was low on business, he and his older brother had to help with the income. His sister was way too young to do so, and their older sister was just too busy with marital shenanigans to even be on the list. Pitying the mirrored, younger version of himself, he motioned to the boy from where he stood. He was talking to another... man? Yes, it looked just like a man. Skinny, tanned, with strange hair and colourful clothes that pointed him out of the crowd, he seemed familiar. He tried to remember, but nothing more would come to mind. Maybe a dream he once had?

Tch, theorising about a mythical being... He didn’t have the time to think of such childish matters. Brushing the thought off, Ellijah sat on the nearest bench and waited for the boy to come. When the conversation was over, the boy rushed to the possible customer.

“You’ll want one, mister?” He said, his eyes beaming.

He nodded, reaching for his pockets, but was surprised when the boy started exclaiming.

“No, no, no, sir! You don’t need to do this!”

‘Pardon me?’

“He bought it for you, that m-” He covered his mouth with one hand, as if silencing himself “S-Someone already... paid for your debt, mister, y-you... don’t need to do a thing, no.”

Feeling a gaze gracing his features, he looked back at the place the mysterious gentleman were, but he saw none of the vivacious colours. It was definitely a dream. Yes, for sure. 

He went for one of the papers on his worn leather bag, handling you an unfolded exemplar as soon as he reached it. You took it, and took a look at the front cover. ‘October 5th, 1853’. He folded it back and put it under his arm. Reaching for his pockets, he looked for the right amount of change when the kid started shaking his head, the suspenders he wore clicking with movement.

He frowned, insisting.

The lad shrugged. “The message was given.” Gathering all of his items, he nodded. “Thank you, sir! Have a fine night.” Then left.

Two locomotives arrived just seconds after the kid was out of view. The station’s clock rang its nineteen times, and the steam of the stopping trains’ smoke rose to the air. Despite coming a few minutes early, Ellijah was already drowning on the sea of passengers coming in and out of the wooden wagons. ‘This station is already big enough,’ he thought, heading to the luggage carrier. He called, but the employee was too busy with the flow to stop and listen. Irritated, the clockmaker came closer and spoke louder, suitcase explicitly in hand. Only then, he got the so needed attention.

“If punctuality is London’s main concern, then its people shall learn how to live in an organized way, don’t you think?”

Ellijah widened his eyes, taking a step back at the sudden voice. He looked at the source of it, and there stood the man from before. He no longer wore the colourful cloths and pendants and necklaces, but a white button-up shirt covered by some kind of tunic in a tone of pale, light purple with dark purple and white patterns sewn to the sleeves, maybe on the collar as well. However, what caught more of his attention was the scarf he was wearing. It irradiated the ultramarine blue dye on its features, as well as the expensiveness on it. Despite not looking as fortunate, the mysterious man wore a scarf so blue it had to have been dyed with lapis lazuli itself. The density of it kept his gaze and seemed to have put him on some kind of trance. The more he looked, the dizzier he felt, and as so, a nauseous state came before he could even think of closing his eyes.

The mystery man reached out a hand to assist, but jumped slightly at the sight of another hand, gloved, brushing his away. Ellijah faced the floor, then looked at the train on his front, not even bothering to say a word or even look at the other one. He adjusted his top hat and cleared his throat, tightening the grip on his hand luggage and ticket.

“A proper clock would never tick twice at a second.” He answered. Then left, never looking back.

* * *

Ellijah looked around. It was already far from the capital, the lampposts faded long ago, and the lamp he carried had the majority of its oil already consumed. If not for the man holding his wife and their sleeping children three seats behind, the wagon would be a desert. Upon reflecting, it was a surprise to him when in a sudden the light on his lamp flicked. It was late, so the ones responsible for the oil service were most certainly resting. Besides, the dawn workers wouldn’t start nowhere near less than an hour. The dirty man sighed. Excusing the excessive thinking from his mind, he turned his attention to the paper.

It was not long until the lamp was empty of oil. He was in the middle of an article about France’s and Britain’s marine fleets and the Black Sea when the ambient became dark. He took his pocket watch from his coat and tried to decipher the time. Despite hearing each and every tick, the absence of proper illumination made it nearly impossible to obtain the information.

Folding the newspaper and arranging it on his daytime bag, he accommodated the lamp next to his now folded coat, stretching his legs over the empty seats enough to not dirt their thin cushion with his shoes. The seat was rather large, and the wagon, being practically empty, brought no more worries to his mind.

* * *

Ellijah almost fell to the floor when the train reached its final destination, just moments before. The machinist put out the breaks and the iron wheels screeched loudly, as well as the train’s whistle that echoed throughout the entire wagon. Head spinning, he looked around, eyes slowly getting used to the clarity of the station’s lamppost.

“Please, misters, pay close attention!” Said one of the train crew employees. “We have now reached the far city of Sepphia, in the district of Eremont. Sepphia’s station is the final destination, so we must turn the train over in order to proceed. No matter the travel destination, all shall leave at once. For more information, please reach for the station’s workers.”

Ah, yes. Sepphia was the farthest city on Eremont to integrate trains. And the last, at least for the near future. Far from the main city, there were barely no methods of transportation besides by carriage or horse.

Setting foot on the wooden deck, Putting on his coat, you took his handbag by the straps and boarded out of the train, heading to the back next to reach out for his luggage.

“And who you might be, mister?” Asked the luggage man.

Ellijah reached for his pockets and picked a sheet of paper, unfolding it to show a paper stating name and proving ownership over the belongings that had to stay on the back.

Once in possession of them, he walked through the small station to sit on a wooden bench, not far from the entrance. 

He looked through his coat’s pocked and took a rectangular, white envelope, with his full name written on the back in flawless cursive handwriting. The seal on the front face was broken. He unfolded the letter and read it once again.

_“May 17th, 1850.  
Vesuvia_

_Dear Ellijah T. Shultz,_

_I take my pen in hand to answer the concerns presented on the previous letter. As I may recapitulate, your arrival should be orchestrated by the same lines as the last time you visited Vesuvia: although I, as the Countess, insist on making your travel faster and more comfortable by ordering a carriage, the more appropriate way to move through such distances is by train. So and so, I recommend following by the Southern Rails, once they end in the city of Sepphia, in the district of Eremont, and it is more convenient, according to my resources, that my most trusted servants reach for your assistance there, at the early hours._

_Once in the station, it is fundamental for your figure to be of easy access from its entrance, since, in order for your presence on the November 5th’s dinner, the carriage has to leave as soon as possible. I must as well say that the servant of the auburn hair that received you on his last visit, Portia, was promoted to lead servant and will now stay by your side until the arrival is completed and your chambers arranged properly for your stay._

_That being said, I excuse myself for my bluntness, but I must ask: How long it has been since we last enjoyed a meal together? As far as I recall, last year I have received a letter stating the damage on your health was enough to prohibit any type of activity obligatory to the outside of your residence, and I have to admit that, because you’ve never missed an opportunity to travel to Vesuvia, the news left me concerned about your well-being. The year before that, excessive work hours took you away, and so your presence at the palace was also missed._

_It is known that it is better said than done, but I feel the need to inform you of a proposition both me and Count Lucio are willing to fulfil: We offer you, Ellijah T. Shultz, an opportunity to live within the limits of Vesuvia. You would be perfectly allowed to stay on the palace for as long as you wish, or, if you desire, until you find a steady position to assume and earn the tributes needed for your sustain. Either way, you’ll have the Count full support, as well as mine._

_I apologize that this letter may not clarify my intentions as well as intended, but I guarantee that any questions you may hold about what is written in this piece of paper will be answered by the time we dine together once again._

_Count Lucio can barely contain himself, knowing this time you’ll come._

_I hope to see you soon._

_Faithfully,  
Countess Nadia Satrinava, of Vesuvia.”_

Countess Satrinava was a good person, there was no use in denying it. He just couldn’t understand why were Count Lucio and her so attached to him. The first time he went to Vesuvia was in 1849, to repair the palace’s clock. She have heard of the Shultz from a client, and ordered its services right on the first letter. The Count had insisted he’d stay on one of the guests’ chambers, and so he did. From that day and beyond, he were called more frequently to dinners, parties, even once for Count Lucio’s anniversary masquerade. He refused all of the invitations, as his father said so, and let him compose all the apologize letters. They’ve never questioned it.

“Ellijah T. Shultz? Excuse me, mister Shultz!”

He looked at the source of the voice.

“Hello, Ellij-- Mr. Ellijah Shultz. I-I don’t know if you recall, but my name is Portia, Countess Satrinava’s lead servant.”

Ah, yes, the servant. He bowed a little.

 _‘He... He’s here...!’_ Shaking, she bowed back.

“Are you feeling ill, Ms. Portia?”

“N-No, absolutely not. I mean... Oh, excuse me, mister, it seems like I am a little weak from the trip to here. I apologize for my innapropriate behaviour. Nonetheless, the Countess said you would be here. I-I’m glad you’re were able to come this year, Ellijah. W-We’ve missed you.”

_‘H-How could he?’_

He was about to question again, but decided to only nod, taking a deep breath. 

Portia was leading the way through the small crowd to the carriage when she felt her vision become blurry.

_‘N-No, you can’t, not right now.’_

Tears started to form on her eyes.

_‘Pasha, no!’_

She brushed the sleeve of her dress on to the humid area and breathed deeply, still taking the lead.

_‘Stop it! Remember what milady said.’_

She turned around abruptly.

She couldn’t tell him, at least not now. Considering the amount of major events happening on their lives for the last couple of years, her only alternative was to guide him into speaking directly to the Counts. The servant motioned for him to drop it, and they kept on walking. She couldn’t possible lie to Ellijah, he... the sigil was such a crucial piece to the situation Asra played out, to the upright ending. Portia stopped right in front of the carriage, the only one standing next to the train station. Ellijah turned and walked through the open door. Portia forced herself to stay still while he entered, but followed straight after. 

He entered the carriage and sat on the back seat, by the window. When all was on its place, Portia spoke to the coach and then headed to the back to sit on the opposite seat from him. The coach’s whip echoed loudly at the contact with the horses’ skin and, among with their neighing, the vehicle started rumbling, and finally moving. It trembled a little, but the road, because it was made of cobblestone, made it of weak relevance.

He looked around. Despite having no memory of riding this kind of carriage, somehow, it felt familiar. The inside of the cabin was made out of dark wood and the window frame had patterns carved on it, mostly vines, and a part had a curtain over it, for some privacy. The seats were cushioned with black leather, and his mind just seemed to know it was stuffed with some sort of wool. Next to Portia were some blankets, cleaned and folded, said she, for a moment of necessity due to the coming winter. Even though it was chilly outside, the window was open, guaranteeing a cold breeze to circulate the air on the cabin. It was too much, said the headaches, slowly returning. Everything was just... overwhelming. The care the Count and Countess held for him seemed, to say the least, unexplained, but it appeared in every little detail. Out of nowhere, he felt a wave of tranquillity passing through his body, also quieting his mind. It sounded almost like... magic, if that even existed. 

The girl tried to small talk, but by seeing the look on his face, she didn’t insist. With the passing time, the constant rock of the carriage made Ellijah’s mind ramble. Slowly, drowsiness took over, and he drifted off.

_‘Ellijah was feeding the cows when he heard the ticks of an old clock. He rapidly looked up, and there they were. He shouted their name and waved. The other, in response, came straight to the edge of the wooden fence. He couldn’t exactly make his face, but it looked very much like a man he once knew. Despite his best efforts, he just couldn’t figure out who. Nonetheless, they hugged, and the farmer invited the pseudo-stranger to his cottage. They sat and they chatted over a cup of tea. When the sun was at its dawn, his guest motioned to his watch, and he accompanied them through the cows that now sat on their barn, the ducks that curled up next to the small pound, the chicken den, that was now so silent a single rustle of feathers would not pass without notice, and through the fluffy flock of sheep, who stayed silent despite their regular loud behaviour when their sheppard neared the main gate. Once more, they hugged, and the strange figure passed through the wooden gate. Just before leaving, however, they slipped a warm letter to his hand. Looking down at it, a soft, pleasurable feeling passed between his every muscle, and flowed with the venous blood to his entire body. His face was warm to the touch, and he couldn’t find himself more anxious. When he looked up, the other was gone. He decided to gaze back at the letter, and his eyes trailed through the entire back of it. There it was. The name of his correspondent. He focused on the scribbled caligraphy, but a sudden dizziness took over. Nausea. No, not exactly. It figured similar to the good old sea sickness, but worse. His entire body shook, and the pain of numerous currents of electricity came over his figure. He yelled, he screamed, but nobody came. It took a while, but when the pain subsided, a face came to the view. Landrich, his father. His face was clear, very clear. And sharp. He flinched, but with one single look, he understood. Never again.’_

Ellijah woke up with a jump, startled once again. He didn’t even had to look around to see the servant, Portia, desperately shaking him, wide-eyed. Their eyes met, and the man, terrified, backed away as much as he could, hiding his stressed features. She tried to hold him in a way she just knew it would work, but this time it did not suffice. As soon as her arms pressed against his torso, he felt a sudden urge to relieve himself of it, and struggled as hard as he could. Portia gasped, and held herself not to scream as it could trigger something more. Loosing balance, she was, so and so, thrown back on her seat, and for just a few inches her head did not suffer any type of injury. A few seconds passed before someone could think of something. Ellijah covered his ears, avoiding what he knew was inevitable. However he, at some point, heard her sniffle. He swallowed, his throat as dry as it could possibly be, keeping the retracted position, but didn’t dare to look. The sound was soon muffled by its maker, and a few ticks occurred before Ellijah, while still averting his gaze, brushed off his coat and straightened the collar of his under vest, proceeding then to put his monocle back on the front pocket. He was wet with sweat, despite the cold winds that dared to pass through the wide open window. Sitting straight, he noticed a cloth of fluffy texture escaping from his lap. It felt warm, too warm. Looking at it, he saw a soft blanket of a peculiar tone of purple, one that caught his eye, that wasn’t there before, and tilted his head to the side.

“W-We passed at the side of a river and strong winds brought the cold alongside with the humidity. I’ve noticed your unconscious self, curled up, and... thought a blanket might help.” Portia said, clinging to her own. Her voice sound huskier than before, sometimes even failing to pronounce the words she meant to. “There is no need to worry about the coach. I gave one to him as well. He noted the horses were fine.”

There was now a strange tension surrounding the insides of the carriage, and it was so thick he knew both could feel it. Portia sighed, defeated. This sight... it happened before, but with more urgency and drama. The look on his face, however, was still the same. A response was unexpected, but the man insisted, nodding, and returned to the window. She was not finished, but couldn’t go on. It took a moment for her voice to finally find itself in the middle of the storm of thoughts.

“While you were asleep, Mr. Shultz, I was told by the coach to inform you about the whereabouts of this travel. First of all, Gradiff is only a few minutes far from our current location. According to what Countess Nadia had ordered and planned, it is of importance for her if we take a moment to lunch and rest once the carriage arrives. After that, another stop is scheduled, on the city of Zlousall, as a boat is obligatory for the completion of the course. Lady Satrinava also noted that, if it is by your likings, that we make a stop on that city for a cup of tea -- Or coffee, if it is that the beverage of your preference -- before departing straight to Vesuvia.”

No words could suffice -- she did not receive a response other than the shaking of his head in affirmation. She tried to make small talk as they rode, but his non-verbal responses made her stop trying, eventually. The rest of the trip did not change. Even when they made a stop at a pub on the side of the road, Ellijah kept quiet for most of the time. Portia ordered a portion of black coffee and a slice of cake, as he asked for a cup of tea and some biscuits. He ate and drank quite fast, went to the bathroom and, after that, waited for the rest on the carriage.

“I see ‘tis guest is not a simple one, yes?” The coach asked in a low voice, just moments before he left. Portia, who was by his side, elbowed him slightly.

“...I am not in the very least proud to say that I cannot assume he is now like he once was, after everything milady said. I might not even know him any more, as it looks like he does not hold a single thought about... me, or everyone else in general. But I have, a few years ago, seen a side of this man, and I am certain that he is not one to fall to such basic concepts.”

The other employee nodded.

“Was everything fine back there? I felt a shake coming from the cabin an’ ‘as tempted to stop everything to check.” He said.

“Nothing to worry about,” she brushed it off. “Not for now, at least.”

“I see.”

* * *

The rest of the trip was the same. After the incident, Ellijah refused to sleep at all, despite his body claiming for forgiveness and closed lids. He stared at the window, shifting his position every now and then. The night passed in blank. When they arrived at Zlousall it was already morning. The coach was dismissed and a captain and his crew took place. They boarded the ship. It was a small navigation, but it did not lack in royalty. Since it was a transportation method for people and not for products, it had bedrooms, a dining area and a rather large open wooden deck. The crew and captain’s quarters were just underneath it. The newcomers complimented the sailors and stayed to walk around and socialize a little. The guest, however, stayed on his room at all times, leaving only to dinner and shower. Portia still had so much to ask, to confront, but, by following orders straight from the Countess, kept the complaints for herself and aimed at a professional relationship. A couple of days passed, and a sailor finally announced the sight of solid land.

When the ship was close, Portia yelled for the guards who accompanied them through the entire travel, and ordered to reach out for the Count and Countess, who were waiting for their arrival. Next, she went to the quarters area, and knocked gently on the door. Nobody answered. Noticing the shouting of the crew, she knocked louder, and it finally opened.

“Yes?” Ellijah answered, looking just as calm and contained as when they met at the train station.

“You seem much better, Mr. Schultz. May I ask what had happened?” Portia risked.

He shrugged, keeping his serious facade.

“Maybe it is the change of environment.”

Portia looked him up and down. His posture was different from the past few days. He stood like the episode on the carriage never happened. It may have been from the time staring, but he cleared his throat and put his hand on his pocket, changing feet.

“I’m sorry for that, Mr. Shultz. I shouldn’t have been staring.”

He looked into her eyes.

“Nonsense, Portia. It is I who owns you an apology for acting so... savagely with you. There was no reason for that.”

She blinked slowly, incredulous. How could he shift personas like that?

“Well, I assume you had something to tell me, didn’t you?” He continued.

“Oh... yes.” She said, recomposing her position. “I am here to announce we have finally arrived at Vesuvia, Mr. Shultz. The Count and Countess should be waiting at the deck by now.”

He frowned.

“Then let us leave. How rude, to keep the Count waiting under the afternoon sun.”

“Yes, yes. I apologize.” She said.

Countess Nadia stood on the rock ground, waiting patiently for her guests to leave the transportation she so carefully chose. Count Lucio, however, found himself incapable of keeping the responsible noble facade.

“The sun’s too bright! Why do we have to stand here, and not on the palace? My feet hurt, and I want my silk throne!”

The Countess sighed loudly.

“Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with looking taller than me, then your feet would hurt less, my Count.”

He looked straight at her, annoyance written on his face. 

“I’m afraid the high shoes you wear are not in the very least appropriate for the occasion. Maybe, next time, you would like to try the summer pair that was gifted to you on the last masquerade?” She asked. Lucio groaned in response.

“A respectable Count should always wear his best outfits for the public. I don’t see why these fancy leather boots are inappropriate. In fact, I believe it is I who is the most appropriate at the moment.”

Nadia rolled her eyes, but didn’t dare to strike him up with a witty response. She breathed in, then out, and turned to the ship on her front. The wooden bridge was finally descending. Portia left first, a strange expression on her freckled face. Right behind, a brown-haired gentleman made his appearance. Ellijah T. Shultz. The one and only.

Nadia tried her best to cover her shocked face. Ellijah was... different. Not only in clothes, but in personality as well. His long curly hair was no longer a nuisance, now maintained in a shorter cut and brushed to the back in a behaved manner. His clothes changed greatly, and he looked more like someone that could be found in the middle of London, when the trains chimed loud and clear, than the adventurous, young boy he once portrayed.

“And who exactly is that?”

Of course, the Count just had to barge in with his uneducated manners. She acted as though she heard nothing.

“Hey, answer m-!”

“I can answer later. Shush now, he’s coming.” She whisper-yelled.

And so he did.

“Count Lucio, Countess Nadia.” She bowed slightly to the couple, receiving a simple nod in retribution. “This is Ellijah T. Shultz, from the city of London, brought as requested.”

Nadia offered her hand, and Ellijah kissed slightly the back of it. When he turned to Lucio, however, he made a pouty face and looked at him in disdain.

“How dare you kiss her like that, you uncultured swine?”

Ellijah took a step back, wide-eyed.

“Pardon me?”

Nadia pinched him subtly.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“My apologies, Mr. Shultz. My husband’s been acting strangely for the last few minutes. I’m sure he means well.”

“Actually, I-” She pinched him again. “OW!”

“I’m sorry for the disturbance, my Countess. Maybe we can talk somewhere less... Sunny?”

She hummed, approvingly.

“I’m in agony only by seeing your figure wrapped around such warm clothes. Perhaps it would be best for you if we could take a change in environments. And I’m sure the Count would be delighted to do so, right?” She noted, nudging him.

“Obviously. This place is making me sweat, it’s an absolutely horrendous sight to see. Let’s head to my palace right away!”

“Your palace?” Huffed Nadia.

“The palace? N-No, I couldn’t possibly...” Stuttered the guest. “Are you sure, Countess Satrinava?”

Lucio was about to retort, but Nadia acted first with a powerful glance. Portia decided it was the best to intervene.

“I’m sure she’s sure, Mr. Shultz. You are her guest, after all. How do you expect to pass your days in Vesuvia if not on the palace?” She smiled.

Ellijah looked to the side, clearing his throat.

“Of course, what a foolish question.”

“And please, call me Nadia. There is no need for formalities when all you are is my guest.”

He nodded. Count Lucio, on the other hand, turned to shout at the guards, and pointed to the open-ceiling carriage that awaited a couple of blocks away.

“Ah, our ride is here! Everybody, follow the leader!”

Nadia looked at Portia with a displeased expression. She shrugged, and started walking. Ellijah followed straight after, accelerating his pace to keep up with the Countess’. Lucio was already in when they finally arrived, holding a red parasol. Ellijah rose an eyebrow, but boarded the vehicle anyway.


End file.
